


But Monsters Live Here, Darling

by pidgeonpostal



Series: The Overwatch High Fantasy AU with Witchers [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-typical monster violence, D&D AU, Gen, High Fantasy AU, Making friends via alcohol, Okay Witcher-ish AU, Witcher AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeonpostal/pseuds/pidgeonpostal
Summary: "The hunter came around noon, the sun high in the sky."In which Jesse is approximately a witcher, Hanzo is approximately a cryptid, and they go on a hunt together.I wrote a prequel to an R76 fic I never finished, and then finished the prequel despite letting the original sit unfinished, whoops. Fic title comes from reading too many things using a very similar line, it was supposed to just be a working title, and then I wanted to post this and had no other ideas.
Series: The Overwatch High Fantasy AU with Witchers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625977
Kudos: 3





	But Monsters Live Here, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Quick caveat for anyone who sees the word "witcher" and expects actual good Witcher content: I read the books, tried to get into the games, and then promptly got really deep into D&D instead. So while the concept of a witcher is in here, and I might try to use the map from the witcher, everything else is gonna be much more D&D-like, because that's the fantasy knowledge I have on hand.
> 
> Corrections welcome, I do not have a beta.

The hunter came around noon, the sun high in the sky. He wore a heavy cloak against the snow and a wide brim hat, and even a mile off Hanzo could smell the smoke and hear the heavy footfalls. For the few minutes it took the hunter to trudge through the snow, the smell was almost comforting.

"Howdy!" the hunter shouted from the boundary of Hanzo's territory. His stance was lazy, but his boots were just at the edge of a line of stones, as if waiting on a proper threshold for an invitation. The indication of manners almost made up for how loud he was.

"The name's McCree. You doing alright?"

Hanzo stared at him from his perch and did not move. 

The hunter took a long drag from his cigar. Smoke drifted away from the hat, but Hanzo couldn't yet see his face. "Y'know, don't mean to spook you, but most monsters can climb trees. Some bears, too. And there's plenty of both out here. Hop on down and I'll walk with you back to town."

He could not be serious. Hanzo snorted, a soft plume of steam rising from his nostrils. "Go home, witcher. This contract is not worth your life."

The hat turned up, revealing a shaggy bearded face and telltale yellow eyes. The witcher smiled with teeth just a little too sharp. "Beggin' your pardon, but you don't know how much they paid me."

"Not enough."

"Pretty high opinion of yourself, lizard-man. You--"

The witcher rolled mid-sentence, and Hanzo's first arrow struck empty snow. "Northern barbarian," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"You were meant to!" Hanzo drew his second arrow. Witchers were hardy and tended to wear proper armor; he might not be able to get enough shots off before the witcher could close the distance. But the witcher might not know that. "I have done nothing to the town below. Leave and you will not be followed."

"And if I wanna stay and chat?" He had rolled up to a standing position, dusting the snow from his pants as if nothing had happened. It was infuriating. Small sparks began to arc over Hanzo's exposed skin.

"I have nothing to say to you." He had nothing to say to anyone. That was why he was _here,_ on a mountain as far away from the world as he could get. Or at least it had been, until the town had set up in the valley below. And then, after a mere sheep went missing, the town had hired a witcher, and here he was, _talking._

At least they had hired an inept witcher.

"Well I got quite a lot to say, if you're willin' to listen," the useless witcher continued. "News from all over. Heard you've been up here a while. Maybe you'd like to know how all the Omnic fightin' ended? Ain't got much of a singin' voice, but I learned some of the new ballads, too. A grain of truth in each one, but probably not much more than that."

Hanzo resisted the urge to roll his eyes and brought his bow up again. "I will not ask again. Leave."

"Alright. Didn't want to have to resort to this but, well, desperate times." McCree pulled something from his pack and uncorked it in one fluid motion, letting the smell carry on the wind into Hanzo's tree. The scent was unmistakable. It was even more comforting than the smoke, a faint memory of something he hadn't tasted in over a decade.

Hanzo didn't notice his arm had gone slack until McCree grinned and shook the bottle of sake. "How about over a drink?"

* * *

"This does not make us friends."

"Of course."

McCree had poured two cups, placed them down, and backed away three long paces to allow Hanzo to choose one. Most poisons could not hurt him but once again, the manners surprised him. After he had chosen a cup and stepped back the same distance, McCree went up to retrieve the other cup and returned to his place. It allowed for conversation while keeping out of range of the witcher's sword.

They sipped in silence for a long while, until he could bear it no longer. "You said you had news for me. Speak, then."

McCree deliberately took a slow sip of sake before answering. "Gotta know where to start. How long you been out here?"

"Longer than you have been a witcher."

McCree's whistle was piercing, even muffled by the snow. "Long time, then. Where you from?"

Did he not know? Was this why he had called him a _lizard?_ No. "You cannot truly be this dense," Hanzo said instead, leveling McCree with his most judgmental stare.

McCree shrugged and stared back for a moment, but then snorted and grinned. "Got me there. Just wanted to hear for sure. Let's say I know a place where dragon blood runs in people's veins."

"Then I would say you know where I'm from."

"I'd like to hear you say the name." McCree leveled his gaze expectantly.

A pause. "Hanamura." Hanzo took another sip. What did it matter. It couldn't be his home anymore, anyway.

McCree nodded. "Yeah. Alright. So you're Hanzo."

The cup fractured in Hanzo's fingers. McCree watched him, deceptively relaxed. His expression hadn't changed. Still thoughtful, still waiting. Hanzo spoke slowly, carefully, to hide any emotion at all. "And were you hired to kill Hanzo?"

"Weren't hired to kill anyone," McCree said brightly. "Just paid to get sheep to stop disappearing."

"A single sheep is not worth a witcher's pay," Hanzo said, incredulous.

"Well, no." McCree raised one eyebrow. "A whole flock, though, that's worth having someone take a look."

Hanzo shook his head. "I did no such thing."

McCree held out his hands in a wide shrug. "Like I said, I'm here to talk. I don't think it's you either. Anything else live up here?"

Hanzo scowled. "Only recently. When were the sheep taken?"

"Started about a month ago. That line up?" McCree sipped at the sake without looking away.

Hanzo nodded. "Though if that is what you mean to hunt, I will reiterate: turn back. The contract is not worth your life."

"I'll decide that for myself. What is it?"

"A particularly ornery manticore." Hanzo shifted his shoulders a little at the memory. He had escaped it, once, but not without injury. "It's vicious, but predictable in its hunting patterns. Avoidable, once you have learned them."

"So you know where to find it," the witcher grinned. "Easy prey."

 _That_ made Hanzo laugh. "I begin to see why there are no old witchers."

"Or maybe we're all old and just look this good," McCree shot back, still all teeth under the brim of his hat. "So, how 'bout it? Wanna help me kill a manticore?"

Later, Hanzo would blame it on the drink, and the isolation that made even a fool's company enjoyable. But in that moment, he finished his glass and said, "I suppose it will be something to do."

* * *

"Pretty handy with that bow," McCree said as they began their walk. "But I figure you've got some other surprises, wanna clear that up before we go in."

Hanzo resisted the urge to sigh. "Very well. I assume you know how to use those swords and the basic witcher signs. Do you have additional training?"

"Was a bandit, once. Good at holdin' a knife to people's necks for information and lyin' through my teeth. Other than that, swords and blastin' have always been good enough. Now you: can you become a full-blooded dragon? That could be handy."

"I am descended from the dragons of storms. I may call on them, but I cannot become them."

"Not bad, not bad. Can you breathe fire?"

Hanzo glared at him, before turning to continue walking.

"I'll take that as a no. But you had a little light show goin' on earlier. Can you spit lightning?"

The walk to the manticore's hunting grounds was long, and in any other circumstances Hanzo would have been grateful for the distance. But McCree seemed intent on conversation. "I can channel the power of storms. It is not so primitive as simply ‘spitting lightning.’ It is a system of magic all its own."

"Ah, another 'no,' then."

Hanzo glared back at McCree again, who just kept smiling. Deciding that that was far too smug a smile to let stand, Hanzo slowed down until McCree was next to him, then reached up to pat him on the shoulder and let a cloud of sparks jump from his fingertips.

McCree yelped, and it was the best sound Hanzo had heard from him all day.

"Now that just ain't _sportin'_ —"

"Try to keep up, witcher." Hanzo picked up the pace again.

McCree huffed and jogged up to meet him, holding his hat. "Alright, I get it. You're a big shot, we'll leave it there. Anything special about the manticore? Get any good hits on it yet?"

Hanzo rolled his right shoulder. "Once, when it first arrived. It is quite mobile. And venomous. And—" he suddenly held up his hand. Somewhere ahead of them, he heard the flap of large wings.

McCree must have heard it too. He bent low and reached for his sword. "Thought you said it was further on," he breathed, just loud enough for Hanzo's ears.

Hanzo didn't dignify that with a response, instead pointing up to where he suspected it was. Thankfully, the witcher had some sense, and nodded. His left hand came up, fingers bent.

With a roar, the manticore burst through the trees above them. Hanzo leaped to the side and began to climb. Behind him, there was a bright flash of light and another roar from the beast.

The manticore had picked a good spot for an ambush. The trees weren't quite as thick here, and Hanzo would have a harder time avoiding open air where the manticore could fly. He pulled an arrow as he turned to aim, breathing in slowly. Below, McCree's sword was out. He sliced the air once, twice, blocking the creature's stinger before surging forward and dealing a heavy blow to the creature's face as it reeled. He had blinded it with the first flash, or it would have caught him already. Hm. Not bad.

Hanzo fired, catching one giant paw as it swept towards where it thought McCree might be. A second arrow knocked the stinger off-course just enough to avoid McCree's ridiculous hat. McCree pressed his advantage, hacking into the thick hide as best he could.

He was faster than Hanzo gave him credit for. But the manticore's eyes were starting to focus just a bit more. They didn't have much time. Already McCree was having to leap back to avoid being hit. The next arrow Hanzo nocked he filled with lightning, and aimed toward one of the cuts McCree had made.

The manticore shrieked, and McCree lunged again.

Back and forth they danced with it, a rhythm that made Hanzo's bow sing in a way he had not felt in decades. The world narrowed to this one grove, this one breath, this one shot. Thunder filled his ears. Lightning arced over his fingers as frost formed over his nails like claws. The storm rolled within him, demanding its tribute, its _right._

And then of course, McCree missed. _Missed,_ entirely glancing off the manticore's tail, off-balance and wide open for attack. One giant paw swung forward and knocked his legs from under him.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ The kill was so _close._ Hanzo growled. Then he would do it _himself._ He felt the roar of the dragons in his ears, and let them fly.

He didn't remember the next few minutes. The world came back into focus as the thunder drew back to only a pounding in his chest, and he reflexively landed softly as his balance left him and he fell from the tree. The manticore lay in front of him, unmoving. It’s skin had been torn deeply as if by giant claws, the exposed flesh singed and smoking, burning Hanzo’s nose and eyes, the roll of thunder echoing in his chest—

"Well damn. Aren't you a sight."

Hanzo's head whipped around to face McCree, who had since risen to his feet. He looked calm. Unsurprised. Unafraid. Hanzo's eyes narrowed, but the fight had left him giddy with adrenaline. He couldn't help but chuckle, a little breathless, even as he realized what would come next.

"You could at least pretend to be surprised, witcher."

The sword was still in his hand, still dripping with manticore blood. He hadn't raised it yet. But he hadn't actually taken the hit Hanzo had seen, that was clear. He was uninjured, and Hanzo was not. He had feigned it, to be sure his kill was what it seemed to be, and to wear it out, maybe have another monster finish it off for him. Easy money, to pick off the remnants of another battle. Disgraceful.

But McCree still didn't raise the sword. Just watched Hanzo with a wary eye. There was something there, some spark of recognition. "Ain't a lot that surprises me anymore," he said. "Though I gotta admit, I was expecting a different dragon when I heard about you. When you turned up instead, I wanted to be sure you were the real deal."

A different dragon. Something fluttered in Hanzo's chest. He crushed it immediately. "Speak sense. There is no one else."

McCree took his hat from his head and held it in front of him. "'Fraid there is. See, I heard about you firsthand, from a punk kid with green hair-"

Hanzo lunged, and finally the sword came up, its tip resting at Hanzo's throat as he stilled. The clearing was quiet. The snow muffled their voices and made the world feel small. "That boy is dead, foolish witcher," Hanzo spat.

"Five years ago he wasn't. The trail went cold, but I know Genji's out there still."

"No. Decades ago. Do you know how I know, witcher? I killed him myself. Not a day goes by where I forget that. Your memory plays tricks on you."

"I know. He told me so. What happened between you. Hard to forget somethin' like that. Might eat away at a man. Make him run."

Ludicrous. Hanzo ran from nothing. "You met a changeling. A ghost."

McCree shrugged. "Maybe I did. Maybe I had a grand time befriending a figment of my imagination for a long while. If that's what you want to believe, that's fine with me. But I lost my imaginary friend, and I'm hopin' to find him again. We didn't part best of friends and I figure some reconciliation might be in order. Wonder if, out here at the edge of the world, you might be interested in some, too."

The sword dropped, and McCree extended his other hand. Hanzo eyed it as he brought his breathing under control, and watched the glow of the tattoo down his left arm subside. He was suddenly exhausted, the exertion of the fight finally taking its toll. "Why not kill me, and look for your ghost on your own." The question came out flat and toneless.

"I ain't that man anymore. And I figure you could be convinced to help me find him."

A ghost. It couldn't be anything more. "No. I will leave you to your folly. The village below will here no more of me. Depart in peace."

"Ain't even gonna think on it a little more?"

The ground felt unsteady beneath Hanzo's feet. "Not a day goes by when I do not think about what I have done. Now leave, and do not return."

McCree let out a heavy sigh. "Well. I gotta pick up the bounty for the beast there, maybe pick up some supplies before headin' out. I'll be in town a few more days if you change your mind."

Hanzo watched the witcher leave, and listened for his footsteps until he was well beyond the trees. The smoke lingered.

* * *

The town didn't exactly have a tavern, to Jesse's great disappointment, and even after the manticore was dead it took some talking to allow him to bed down in a corner of the stables that least smelled of horse dung. Even so, he'd had worse, and the straw was new and warm enough.

Damn shame about the brother. Hadn't exactly been the smartest olive branch he'd ever given, but he didn't really know where to start looking for Genji on his own after the last trail had dried up. They never left the fortress during training, and missions were pretty quick in-and-out affairs. No time to really get to know a place, see if they liked it, if they'd want to come back. More's the pity. Jesse had found a lot of good people out here. Some weren't so nice to him, sure, but they were good people in the end. He wanted to believe the same of Hanzo.

He slept with his hat over his eyes until the local animals began to bray and crow in the dawn light. His legs were sore from the hike, and he stretched lazily as the sunlight warmed his body. His ride, a travelling merchant, had left the day before, so it would be another long day of walking to get off the mountain. Not a problem; he wasn't in a hurry anymore. He even had a few copper to spare for a bit of bread as he left.

He'd blame the slow start to the morning for not noticing the rustle in the trees behind him until nearly noon. It had timed its steps to his, in Jesse's defense. Which either meant someone had gone to great lengths to hire a trained assassin to have him killed—not unheard of, but not likely out here—or someone had rethought his offer.

On that hunch, Jesse knelt down, reached into his pack and poured two small cups of whiskey, before stepping back and tearing a hunk of bread. "'Fraid I'm all out of sake. This is a favorite of mine, though, local whiskey down south. Bit more bite to it."

He ate in silence for a few minutes, before soft feet hit the ground a little ways in front of him. One of the cups clinked.

A small snort. "I see the tastes of mortals have not changed much."

"Don't change what ain't broken," Jesse smiled, and looked up.

Hanzo was still wearing the same folded-front shirt, but had pulled the left sleeve down over the tattoo. Something in his eyes might give away that he was more than human, but then again, the same was true of Jesse. He was packed to travel, and apparently, to blend in.

After a beat of silence, Hanzo spoke quietly. "I have been considering your offer. Though what you say is still impossible, it is perhaps worth my time to investigate if any traces of my clan remain. I will join you, for a time."

Jesse couldn't help it, he beamed and walked forward, hand outstretched. "Good to have ya, Hanzo."

Hanzo scowled at the offered hand, but took it briefly. His hand was warm and briefly shocked Jesse's palm. "McCree."

"Jesse, please."

"…Jesse, then."


End file.
